On my 10th anniversary, my husband Carl surprised me with a lavish party, but the real shock came when he presented me with a mop as a gift. The room fell silent, and Carl’s sister Anita cackled, “What a lovely gift for your lovely wife!”
In that moment, ten years of feeling undervalued boiled over. I stormed outside, shattering Carl’s prized sports car windshield with the mop, relishing the satisfying crash. Karma kicked in when a heavy planter toppled onto the car, ruining it further.
Returning inside, I overheard Anita panicking about her frozen bank account, her smugness evaporating. Just then, a family friend, Linda, revealed that Carl had been consulting a divorce lawyer. The truth hit me hard: the mop wasn’t just thoughtless—it was a message.
That night, while Carl argued with his insurance company, I discovered our home and business were in my name. All those years, I believed Carl controlled everything, but he had underestimated me.
The next morning, I packed his bags. “You’re leaving,” I declared, reminding him that I owned the house and the business. Carl’s shock was palpable as I tossed his suitcase out the door.
Suddenly, two FBI agents arrived, investigating Anita for fraud. I smiled, realizing the universe had balanced the scales.
Later, as I relaxed with Linda, I felt free for the first time in years. “Karma took care of everything,” I mused, glancing at the mop—a reminder of my newfound strength.
